


Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes

by redbeard1235



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: :), Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom!Sherlock, CollegeAU!, Daddy Kink, First Time, For goodbveclara!, M/M, Sherlock Secret Santa, Some tears are shed, just enough, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbeard1235/pseuds/redbeard1235
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift to goodbveclara for Sherlock Secret Santa! <br/>John is excited to be able to give Sherlock his birthday present but he doesn't react in quite the way John expected...<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on this site, and also my first work as a gift! You can check out goodbveclara on tumblr (her blog is filled with goodies!!!) as well as my own, ghostbeard-1235. I hope she likes this!! Have a great holiday!!
> 
> *Information is from the Guardian. And OTC is the UK equivalent of ROTC!  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.

"Sherlock! You're here!" John grinned in surprise, pulling off his frosted blazer and stamping his feet.

The chill of early January was quickly striding onto the campus of Cambridge. With it bringing gifts of flushed cheeks and chapped lips, along with the promise of a long and arduous winter. The height of winter forthcoming, John had suspected to see his younger friend less due to the weather. Sherlock wasn't the type to travel much to begin with even on the best days.

"I always come here on Fridays after Molecular Physics." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, looking particularly comfortable on the cot in one of John's large oatmeal sweaters.

"Well yes, but Mycroft mentioned something to Greg about you going home for the weekend to celebrate." The OTC kicked off his boots and grabbed two mugs for tea, "Considering the occasion, I figured you'd be more enthusiastic to go."

"Your roommate and my brother spend far too much time together." Sherlock huffed, the bed squeaking as he flopped backwards in exasperation, "Boring. What's the point of congratulating someone on something they were barely a part of?"

"It's not about congratulations, Sherlock, or we'd be giving your mother the presents. It's celebrating someone's life as a whole." John smiled and passed the young chemist one of the mugs, "At any rate, at least I can give you the present on the proper day."

He reached under the bed, pulling out a crudely shaped box wrapped with a couple of the school's newsletters. It wasn't a terribly impressive shell, but John knew Sherlock would appreciate what was inside.

"Well? Go on." He elbowed his friend lightly, face pink with excitement.

Sherlock scoffed, lips quirked as he destroyed the wrappings. Like static, they crackled beneath his hands and landed somewhere on Lestrade's desk. John's smile fell when Sherlock's expression wasn't one of joy, or even content, but rather one of melancholy.

"What's wrong? I thought you'd be excited. It's all because of your help you know." John smiled, eyebrows furrowed with worry, "I got you an actual present too, if you'd bothered to look further."

Usually he was terrible with gifts, but he'd truly been expecting to see Sherlock beam with pride at the first part of the present. The second he felt pretty confident about as well; Sherlock's old grey scarf was burned in a physics lab and John found a beautiful blue one to replace it, personally he thought the color would bring out the beautiful contrasting hues in Sherlock's eyes.

"You passed all of your exams...with flying colors." Sherlock murmured softly, fingers tracing the various comments about 'amazing improvement' along the thin report.

"With your help, of course I did!" John smiled, "You really think I'd have been able to pass without you pounding the information into my skull? I'm going to be a doctor, Sherlock, an army doctor, and it's all thanks to you."

"John..." The OTC blinked in surprise at the breaking of his voice. He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders, turning him. John's eyes widened at the tears glistening in his fascinating eyes. It broke his heart. 

"Sherlock...I...I don't understand?"

"More service personnel lost limbs in explosions in Afghanistan in the first nine months of this year than the total figure for 2009, according to MoD data. 58 had undergone amputations as a result of injuries sustained in Afghanistan by the end of September, compared with 55 for 2009.*" Sherlock spouted monotonously, as if each sentence was memorized repeatedly.

"There's no telling whether I'll end up deployed in the Middle East, Sherlock. There are hundreds of other possibilities." The chemist was shaking his head wearily at John's words, "And those numbers aren't exactly-"

He grabbed John's sleeve.

"Don't go."

Sherlock wasn't an emotional man. John couldn't even remember a time where he'd seen him close to tears...a time like this. His soft hands gripping John's sweater and gift left forgotten on the dorm room floor. The OTC wasn't ignorant to his friend's appearance, but it was often expressed in stony features and silver tongues. But now his eyes glistened with diamonds and his mouth was bitten a few shades darker. He was beautiful, and out of his depth.John sighed with a comforting smile, wiping beneath Sherlock's eye before a tear could fall.

"Listen to me, I won't be-"

Suddenly hands were sliding against his scalp, and warm lips were cemented against his. John's breath left him in shudders and mixed with Sherlock's. He could feel the man's slim hips straddling his own, and his neck dampening with tears. He slid his hands underneath Sherlock's sweater, trying to make his hands catch up to the speed of his mind.

Hot lips moved from mouth to throat, teeth scraping lightly along the trail. John arched up, tugging off the man's top and tossing it to the floor. Sherlock shivered in the sudden temperature change while John took in the delicious and exposed canvas above him.

With a huff he flipped Sherlock beneath him, bed frame jostling into the wall. He pulled the man towards him through his curls, tightening hands in the obsidian locks and biting at the man's bruised lips before kneading them with his tongue. He paused to catch a breath and found his voice deepened and graveled.

"This isn't exactly how I planned our first time going."

Sherlock panted with flushed cheeks and ripped at John's shirt, "So sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, I'm far from disappointed. Lift up." The OTC hummed, quickly unraveling the straps holding Sherlock's dark jeans together. Nodding, the man raised his hips to let John pull away the offending clothing.

He grasped the sheets beneath his head tightly, obviously feeling exposed. John studied his friend closely, calloused hands tracing veins over naked thighs and trembling shoulders. He kissed his way up Sherlock's body, biting lightly at his knee and harshly at his hip. With each nip, the body beneath him jolted to attention; every moan breathy with pleasure, every vein pulsing with adrenaline.

"I'm right here, Sherlock. I always will be." John murmured, tattooing promises into his lover's skin. They were frighteningly sentimental.

"We'll always be like this." Whispered beneath an ear.

"I'll be so careful if I go. Bullets can't touch me, love." Echoed into his heart.

"Beautiful. You're gagging for it. I can feel you dripping." Moaned against his thigh.

Sherlock trembled as filthy and heartbreaking lines were recited into his ear, rough fingers tracing his perineum. The snapping of a capped bottle gave brief warning before John pressed droplets of slick against him. The chemist gasped in surprise and reached up to grab John's shoulder.

The OTC looked up with soft concern and warm eyes. "Alright?" He asked, the viscous liquid warming as it was rubbed against his opening.

"Just..." Sherlock breathed, grinding down lightly, voice catching as a tip on John's fingers caught against his rim, "For God's sakes, get on with it, John!"

"...There's the Sherlock Holmes I know. I was a little worried at the beginning there." John chuckled and slid in the first finger, raptly watching Sherlock's expressions.

"Shut up." The chemist attempted to growl, but it came out as more of a whine when John curled up against his prostate. The OTC smirked and added a second digit before curling them again.

"John!" Sherlock arched, toes curling against the mattress, "There, there!"

"Here?" John asked innocently, scraping against the spot and making his lover scream and jolt, "Does Daddy need to press harder?"

Sherlock's eyes were wet with pleasure, pleading as they turned on John, "Please..."

The OTC slipped his hand to grasp at Sherlock's weeping erection, softly thumbing at the head as he slipped in a third finger besides the others. He stroked his lover in time with each fingered thrust against his prostate.John could feel Sherlock's walls spasming with the threat of climax, and shivered at the man's low whine as he pulled the digits out.

"John! No! Please, don't!" Sherlock groaned, grasping blindly at John's hips, pulling them flush against one another, "Please...give it to me, daddy."

John moaned and canted his cockhead against Sherlock's entrance, bending over his lover's spine to whisper filthily into his ear. "I'll fuck you so hard into the mattress that your cock will leak against the sheets. Would you like that? Do you want Daddy's big fat cock shoved up your pretty little arse?"

Sherlock moaned at the words punctuated by thrusts, "Bend you over and slap against your cheeks until their as red as your face? I'll make you come the hardest you've ever done, Sherlock, but then I won't stop. I'll keep stuffing my dick into your gaping hole until you beg for mercy. I'll make you come until you have nothing left to give."

"Oh god, oh god-" Sherlock pushed back against his lover's erection, "Fuck me. So hard, I want- AH!"

John slammed into him with one even stroke, setting a brutal pace that forced the bed to sway with the motion. Sweat gleamed off of them and John caught Sherlock's chin with his hand to watch how each thrust seemed to make his eyes another shade darker with pleasure. He felt entranced by the icy blue gaze, fiery in combination with the hot walls sucking at his prick.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock."

He pulled the man to his chest, hands scraping vicious lines of red into the porcelain skin and thrusting harder against the spit causing Sherlock's addictive howling.

"Harder!" Sweat-dampened curls clung beautifully to his scalp, "Fuck, there! Shit! JOHN!"

John felt Sherlock's walls spasm around him, his lover's hips canting and jolting with each crested wave of climax. John's hand reached between them to pull at the man's spurting cock. Sherlock shivered at the extra stimulation, and the next stream of orgasm led John to a heady climax, hips thrusting in a scattered rhythm, releasing into the tight heat with a low groan and light nip against Sherlock's neck.

He let them both collapse side by side, John shifting uncomfortably against the open zipper of his jeans and the wet of their release soaking into his pants. With a small grimace he kicked them off to join Sherlock's scattered clothing items. Their heavy breathing echoed as the only sound in the room for a few moments, but the silence wasn't an awkward one.

John turned to look at his lover and found himself entranced by the unsteady rise and fall of Sherlock's chest. He didn't want to leave this man.

If he could, he would carry Sherlock across the battles of London instead valleys of desert, he would shelter him in a small one-bedroom apartment with only each other's breath to survive on, he would jump buildings, move mountains, and take lives for the beautiful man next to him. He would never leave Sherlock's side...

But...

He thought about Sherlock's plans. A consulting detective didn't need an old rugby player from Cambridge, he didn't need an ordinary man with nothing to offer but comforting words and a warm bed to sleep on. Sherlock deserved so much more than the John Watson he'd just decided to make love with.

Sherlock deserved the man John knew war would make him into. He deserved the man who could save a life just as easily as he could take it. He needed unflinching confidence, a moral compass, and a man who could see the human side to problems; both good and evil.

He needed the soldier.

"John. Stop thinking so much, it's giving me a headache. Pull up the covers while you're at it." Sherlock grumbled, turning into John's chest and opting to ignore the conscious world for the next few hours.

John smiled and let his hand card through the unruly curls resting against him. No matter what happened now, or in the future, at least for the moment, John Watson had everything he'd ever wanted; right here, in his arms. Leaning a bit, be kissed his lover's sleeping head.

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes."


End file.
